


Diplomatic Relations

by nonnymouse



Category: Original Work
Genre: Breathplay, Cockwarming, Incest, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-22 23:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonnymouse/pseuds/nonnymouse
Summary: Marcus will be king. His only trouble is calming his berserker rage during diplomatic meetings.His older brother, the sorcerer, has a solution.





	Diplomatic Relations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



> I was spoiled for choice when it came to your prompts! I started and stopped several ideas, but this was the one I kept coming back to.
> 
> (I know the title is unoriginal, but I couldn't resist the pun.)

"Blood, saliva, semen. The best spells use all three."

"What about women?" he asked, purely to be an interrupting asshole.

"They have their own equivalent, but it's less poetic if I say, 'semen or.'"

"I wasn't aware this was poetry."

"Of course you were," his brother said, tracing the patterns he'd drawn on Marcus's skin in clay mixed with his own blood.

* * *

Their father had allowed them to pick their own course of study. "One of you will be king," he'd said. "A king must be able to forge his own path. He listens to advice, but does not let any other lay the stone beneath his feet."

His brother had discovered a talent for magic, and chased that elusive mistress within the halls of learning. Marcus had spent his own time there learning about history and trade, but preferred the gymnasium and arena, learning to fight and lead other men in battle.

Each year Marcus grew in their father's esteem, and his conversation focused solely on Marcus when the brothers returned home for festivals and other important events. He could see his brother's lips tighten as he watched the throne escape his grasp. Many would say he was the rightful heir, being older, but their father was sincere in his belief that a king made his own way.

When Marcus fought in his first battle during his sixteenth year, he turned out not to be just a warrior, but a berserker. He tore through enemies without fear or sense. That year, he returned home to find himself crowned the heir.

Oddly, his brother's lips had been tilted upward in a thoughtful smile, no anger to be seen.

* * *

He'd been much younger than sixteen when he'd realized his brother's mouth was beautiful. His lips were lush and red, even without the benefit of paint. When they parted before he spoke, Marcus could imagine them parting for other activities. They'd part like that, right before he kissed Marcus. Although as Marcus grew older, his fantasy morphed into that mouth on his cock.

He did not need any lessons to know that he would never find a lovelier mouth than his brother's. He knew from the way he could stare at his brother's mouth for hours, mesmerized by that perfect dip in the middle.

* * *

After the first diplomatic meeting his father let him attend, Marcus stormed through his room to the bathing chamber, the royal bedrooms arranged so that the natural spring could be piped to a connected chamber for each of them. He kicked his furniture out of the way so that he could walk straight through, the solid wood no match for his insane strength.

His brother already waited there, with a towel and soaps. The servants were nowhere to be seen.

"How badly did it go?" he asked, smirking at the sight of blood on Marcus's hands.

The bloodlust faded into confusion, as well as a rather more base sort of lust. "Poorly," he said. He watched with a wary eye as his brother drew closer.

"You see now, that you can never rule as you are. The berserker rage rules you, instead. You need me. I can help you, little brother." He pressed a cool hand to Marcus's cheek, drawing away even more of his hot anger. "I've seen how you stare. I rather doubt you'll dislike my methods."

Marcus jerked away from the soothing touch. Surely, his brother was not offering what he'd long wanted. Even if he were, bedding his brother would be no use. He'd be driven to kill any who mocked their relationship. "How can you help?" He sneered, the same way their father sneered at his brother's power.

His brother undid his chiton, letting it fall to the floor, and stood confidently bare in front of him. "Give me your knife, and I'll show you."

Unwilling to look nervous about arming his brother and disarming himself, Marcus handed it over smoothly. He didn't flinch until his brother cut into his own arm.

* * *

Marcus sat at the head of the table like he was king already, his straight back making him look even bigger than he was, dominating the room. All could see that he was painted with the patterns of his people in clay died to a dark reddish brown, although none knew Marcus always used clay mixed with the blood of his brother.

Due to the design of the table, with a specially wide frieze, and the expensive length of cloth draped over it, they also didn't know that his naked brother knelt beneath, Marcus's firm cock held in his warm mouth.

Most of the diplomats and ambassadors and envoys who sat with him respected his scholar brother more than him. It didn't affect his sense of superiority when he knew that his brother was kneeling for him like a painted courtesan. If they thought his brother more kingly, they were the fools.

The patterns sang warm on his skin, pulling the rage that built as he listened to their insults, their broken promises, their false words and flattery straight into his brother's mouth, down through the saliva that pooled there, then through his body to be purified.

He made no efforts to hold back his rage himself. The more his anger grew, the harder his cock became, and the deeper his brother pushed himself down, his soft throat milking Marcus every time he swallowed. There was no need to reach for control when it was so much fun to feel his brother strain for it instead. Through long practice from the never-ended parade of meetings, his brother had perfected his ability to stay silent. Marcus could feel every time he choked, and his brother's silent struggle to breathe was almost as calming as his magic spell.

Letting one hand drift beneath the table, he gently patted his brother's hair to let him know he was doing a good job. He'd learned to be more magnanimous to him now that their competition was done.

It was too bad, he mused, as he wrote down another concession won as the ambassador before him pursued a truce, that he couldn't watch himself as his brother warmed his cock. So far his brother had refused to suck his cock anywhere but diplomatic meetings, which was quite unfair, to be denied the sight of those lovely lips stretched around the root of his thick cock. Truly, his brother had been born to be his helpmeet, and once he was king, he would force his brother, and his court, to accept his place. Then, his brother would kneel before him in the open, serving his cock before the eyes of all. They would all see his dominance then, his mastery of his brother, who would have been the heir to a different king. They would know his path.

Finally, finally, the ambassador admitted his country's defeat, and conceded all that Marcus sought.

The servants escorted him out, leaving their prince to himself.

He lounged back in his chair, allowing his posture to relax, smiling at the thought of his father's pride in his victory and the feeling of his brother sucking him in earnest. After all, the spell required his seed to spill down his brother's throat to finish, to smother the lingering rage within them both.

It was never a hard requirement to meet after his cock had been massaged by the choking of his brother's throat for hours. He gripped his hair hard with the hand he had used to pet him, thrusting deep and fast, past ready to spill.

"Maximus!" he cried as he came, his brother's name spilling from his lips like a plea.

As he recovered from the release of pleasure and magic both, his brother crawled from up from the table to his lap, letting Marcus watch as he licked white from his swollen, lovely lips. Nothing made him feel more like a king than the sight of his brother's face, marked and claimed.

"What would you do without me, little brother?" he mused. The clay on Marcus's skin felt almost like rope as his brother rubbed it away with a thumb. "Utterly helpless."

"Helpless?" Marcus asked, pulling his brother close by his hair. His sweet face didn't flinch. "I would kill them all. It's lucky for them I have you, my whore."

His brother smiled as he kissed him with his messy mouth. "Helpless," he breathed between them, and Marcus did not argue, not when his brother's mouth was open for plundering. He would conquer him, and then the world.


End file.
